


to follow fate (over and over again)

by lovelines (Alliwantisthetruth)



Series: chaennie reincarnation au [1]
Category: BLACKPINK (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, there are others they're just less important
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 23:25:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17089730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alliwantisthetruth/pseuds/lovelines
Summary: this is the sixtieth time jennie's fallen in love with chaeyoung.soulmate/reincarnation au. only jennie remembers past lives, and she remembers every single one of them.





	to follow fate (over and over again)

**Author's Note:**

> first multi-chaptered fic. we'll see how it goes? 
> 
> not sure if i like this first chapter but i've been staring at it for the past few hours and the words haven't moved on their own to make a flawless story so we're rolling with it. 
> 
> historical innaccuracy because i'd love to tell you that i'm the type of person who spends time and effort researching but i'm really not. i'm trying to be coherent! i'm trying! but i'm probably going to get things wrong so this is my sorry in advance note.

vx.

 

The clouds hanging heavy in the air seem ready to burst. They’re filled to the brim, wisps of dirty cotton candy packed full of rain and lightning and thunder, and they’ve painted the whole city a washed out and desolate grey. 

 

The people around her seem to move in haste. They send annoyed glances skywards, praying that their suits remain water-free or that their heels don’t get stuck in to-be formed mud. Perhaps Jennie should be like them. Perhaps she should worry, too, as she’s without an umbrella, without a raincoat, without any protection against the potential menace of the skies. 

 

She doesn’t mind, though. She hasn’t minded in a long while. She’s lived too many days like this, drab and uncoloured, to be anything more than used to monotony.  

 

(number 48. sunday morning coated in a lifeless grey, the light filtering through dull. outside, the city bristles with noise. inside, tiny steps crack against wooden floors in a minuscule parisian apartment. jennie lifts her eyes from her papers to a blinding smile—)

 

Besides, she’s only five minutes away from destination. She can withstand the rain for that long. 

 

She makes her way out of the throng of people walking, slipping in and out of people’s way. In the early daylight people know where they are going. They know exactly which way to go and they follow an endless routine—to work, to school, to whatever that is important enough to get people out of their beds at five in the morning. It’s hard to try and steer off the path carefully created by the herd, and people are not happy to see this tiny, unimportant girl try to move as fast as possible, stepping right in front of them without any consideration of the normal flow of the crowd.  

 

Jennie can feel their eyes on her. People do not like their routine to be changed and somehow hate small changes even more than larger ones. To them, this interruption is a small ripple in their life that reaches out and affects other parts of their life. The broken coffee machine will be chalked up to another bad omen, and they will bemoan their lack of luck today. 

 

For them, it is a bad way to start the day, and it announces worse things to come. They’ll come home and tell their spouse that it was a bad day, and they won’t know what caused it, won’t know if it was really that bad, won’t realize that, really, all this was caused by the slight imperfection in their routine. 

 

People are predictable that way. People like to be predictable, because that makes life easier to understand, and human beings like nothing more than the ability to understand. With the years, Jennie’s learned to predict them. Not in every single detail, of course, that would be impossible and incredibly arrogant, but there are some things that exist in everyone.

 

Her lips stretch into a bitter curve. "Them". Like she’s not human. Like she’s not flesh and blood and every bit as predictable as anyone else in this world. 

 

But. She’s the one that has lived fifty-nine lives. She thinks that fact ought to place an asterisk next to her name. Jennie Kim, human.*

 

*Certain conditions apply, including the ability to reincarnate forever.

 

Jennie glances down at her watch and curses. She’d promised Jisoo she’d be at her place ten minutes ago. Not that she’d get chewed up for it, because Jisoo’s Jisoo, and Jisoo doesn’t scold. At least not in that way. Jisoo scolds in the same way she teases: in a light, detached way, poking fun at the other without embarrassing them.  

 

Up in the skies, the dam bursts. Rain falls, then pours. Jennie runs. 

 

(number 59. caracas, venezuela. running in the rain. her laugh, oh so loud and clear. passing next to parque cristal, impressive and modern in a way that’s very familiar to the architecture of the 70s. the building’s imposing facade reflecting the dreary grey of the sky. a popular song tugs at the back of her mind, with words in a tongue she’s since forgotten.

 

jennie feels free, running against the wind with the rain down her back. if she looks to her right, she can see _her_ , can see her eyes light up like a child’s.

 

that was a lifetime ago.)

 

"You look like a drowned kitten," is the first thing Jisoo says when she sees her walk in, soaked to the bone. "Wait until you are fully dry to sit on my couch."

 

"Hello to you too," Jennie smiles, tight-lipped. "I missed you."

 

She knows she's got Jisoo right where she wants her when the older girl’s eyes soften and the smirk quirking her lips fades slightly. "I missed you too," she replies. "How are you? Are you working yourself to the bone again?"

 

"Where’s the fun in resting?" Jennie replies. She loves her job, so why should she rest?

 

Jisoo shakes her head. Her black hair splays out on her shoulders and her eyes focus on the steaming cup in front of her. "Maybe you’d understand it if you actually tried to rest one day," she retorts with a small smile. 

 

Jennie knows how worried Jisoo is for her. The older girl wouldn’t practically force them to meet up every week if she wasn’t worried. Even now, worry stamps itself all over her face. She won’t argue, though. Jisoo doesn’t argue, unless Jennie’s looking for a fight. And Jennie never ever wants to fight with Jisoo. Not if she can avoid it.

 

Jisoo’s been a steady presence in this life and Jennie couldn’t be more grateful for her. She had been one of the first people Jennie had met upon setting foot in South Korea, many dreams ago. Back then, she’d wanted to be a K-pop star, and, in a picturesquely cliché move, had gone to Korea heart first without pause for her poor rational mind to catch up. 

 

It took months for it to catch up, but when it did, it was merciless. Well, having to accept the fact that the dream you wanted so desperately to pursue wouldn’t work was always painful, but it had been even worse than expected. In the end, of course, she’d accepted it. She’d had to, or she would’ve gone out of her mind. 

 

So she’d shelved her dream and recycled herself into something that was close enough: stylist. Sure, she’s not dancing or singing or performing (she’s not feeling a rush of emotion in the depths as her soul as she gazes into the giant black hole of a crowd lit up by light sticks being waved in unison), but she’s always liked fashion. She gets to be close to all the glitz and glam without having to suffer the downsides of celebrity. She loves her job, and she works like crazy all the time because she likes it, and also because it keeps her mind—and her hands—busy. 

 

Jisoo as well had dreamt of becoming a Korean superstar, once upon a time. They’d been at the same agency, had suffered and cried together and in the end they’d stopped together. Not that Jisoo’s got it so bad now either. The trainee had turned into an author, one who got the public’s attention. She often appeared on the radio or on variety shows, mainly because Jisoo’s personality was a godsend for television ratings. Jennie thinks she’s seen at least three different ads with her friend’s mischievous eyes on them on the way here. 

 

"You should get a dog," Jisoo says, "or maybe a girlfriend. Maybe then you’d be less at work."

 

Jennie laughs. "I can’t take care of a dog, much less an entire other person."

 

"If not a girlfriend, then at least someone…" Jisoo seems to ponder for a while before waving her hand around, "at least someone to share your bed for a night." 

 

Jennie cracks up even more. "We’re not in one of your novels. You can say _fuck_ , Jisoo." 

 

Jisoo wrinkles her nose at her. "Makes it less romantic."

 

"I’m not really keen on romance."

 

She really isn’t. She meets people in bars or clubs and she’ll follow them out of the place and into their bed, because it’s not as if she has anyone waiting up for her to come home right now. 

 

_She_ hasn’t shown up yet, which means that Jennie can live the life she wants. For now.  

 

Romance, though? That's a no-go. An impossible task. 

 

"I don’t know, Jennie. I feel like you’re the type to dig the idea of fate and soulmates, and all that." 

 

_Ha_.

 

That’s a punch to the gut. Sometimes Jennie wonders if Jisoo knows more than what she lets on. 

 

She doesn’t, how in the world could she even know, but sometimes Jisoo gets it right on the nose or way too close for comfort. This time again, and probably not for the last time, she’s close enough. 

 

Because Jennie doesn’t dig the idea of soulmates, but her disliking it doesn’t change the fact that it’s her reality. It doesn’t change the fact that she’s a human being (*conditions apply) that’s lived too long and that she’s had the curse of remembering the string of unfortunate lives that come with it. 

 

Because Jennie breathes and she gets déjà-vu. She’s got fifty-nine lives’ worth of memories and it’s incredibly overwhelming and draining. She’s had lifetimes of practice to filter through the memories and to try and keep them as far away from the forefront of her brain, of course, but it doesn’t make it less annoying. It certainly doesn’t make it less heartbreaking to be alone over and over and over again. 

 

Jennie can only muster a weak smile. "Soulmates? Wish it would be that simple. Then I wouldn’t have to put in effort to date someone." She’s lying through her teeth. She wishes it didn’t exist. 

 

Jisoo’s laugh rings out and breaks her free of her thoughts. "You have no idea what you sound like right now," she says. "What’s that English word you like to use? About the boys."

 

"I’m not a fuckboy!" Jennie protests, pouting at her best friend. "It’s different!"

 

Jisoo raises a brow, smirk still playing on her lips. "Whatever you say," she singsongs, before suddenly mischief leaves her eyes in a flicker, replaced by something—a reminder. "Oh! Right. I’m organizing a little something with friends sometime later this week. It’ll be here."

 

"Oh," Jennie says. Jisoo is friendly and warm and so quick to love, and Jennie knows that a little something with friends involves at least thirty people. Minimum. 

 

Jisoo’s friends are also a package deal, a befriend-one-befriend-all-at-the-same-time, and Jennie has no clue why or how she ever became this close to Jisoo when she’s constantly surrounded by literal crowds of people. "Am I invited?"

 

Jisoo’s eyes grow stern. "Of course you are! Don’t even joke about that."

 

Jennie smiles widely, trying to be teasing. "Ah, you know how I like to tease. "

 

(number 29. a fleeting memory of _her_ (her, her, her), smiling incredibly wide at something jennie had said. 

 

"you sure like to tease," she drawls out with a smile, hands fluttering around the ravishing pale blue silk of her tunic. it compliments her dark hair unfairly well. "i think i quite like it." that last part had been whispered, a sweet sound of hope that had reverberated against jennie’s aching heart. 

 

and then her face twists, goes from happy to wistful. "but you know," she says in the middle of a sigh, lips rounded just so, and jennie can feel the dread taking over her body. "junius has been more and more demanding, and he’s been hinting more frequently to a wedding..." she peers up at jennie, looks at her with a sad, small smile "still. i hope you know that i quite like you. a shame, really." and she shrugs, like what can you do, like a missed opportunity. it's an act, jennie can read her like no one else and can see her trembling fingers, but it hurts jennie all the same. 

 

jennie’s heartbeat stops. or. doesn’t, she’s not too sure, but she can’t breathe. she sinks to her knees, faintly registers her face, frozen in shock. the last thing she hears is her voice—like many times before, her frantic voice, shouting, crying, asking for a healer— _please, please, i love you._

 

the last thing she sees before she her vision goes black is her, sobbing jennie’s name. 

 

number 29. she’s sure she died of heartbreak.)  

 

"Jennie? You still there?" 

 

Jennie blinks back the ghosts clinging to her eyelids and forces herself to see Jisoo’s apartment, with its leather couches and towering piles of books menacing to crumble to the ground. She is not lounging, tending to her, she is not back to those cracked alleys. She is not back there. She is here. Here, with Jisoo. Here, where she is Jennie Kim, where she is Korean and a stylist and free to live as she wants. She is not fourteen (and twenty-nine lives) but in her early twenties (and thirty more lives rooted deeply in her brain). 

 

She attempts a smile. Must not have been convincing, since Jisoo frowns. "I’m fine," she tries anyways. "I think I had déjà-vu, that’s all."

 

_I had déjà-vu_ doesn’t sound right, but _I was thinking of the time where I was in Ancient Rome_ sounds worse. 

 

"What were you saying, about your party?"

 

Jisoo’s no fool, and she knows an attempt to change the subject when it’s as blatant as that one. Fortunately for Jennie, she’s a kind, considerate soul, so she doesn’t comment on it and rolls with it. 

 

Day bleeds into night in more or less the same fashion, Jennie and Jisoo taking turns to tease the other, to laugh out loud, to whisper secrets to each other and giggling like mad. It is a good night, and Jennie leaves Jisoo’s place with warmth spreading in her stomach. 

 

Before she has time to properly leave and start walking down the street, Jisoo tumbles out of the door. 

 

"Don’t forget, now," she warns Jennie, words slightly slurred. "The party. It’s this Friday." Her eyes flutter rapidly. "Be there! You have to! Promise me," she whines, extending her pinky to Jennie. 

 

Jennie smiles and locks pinkies. "I promise," she says, squeezing the other girl's finger tightly. "Hurry back up, now. Go sleep."

 

Jisoo sticks out her tongue and Jennie childishly returns the gesture. Eventually, Jisoo returns to the warmth of her apartment, and Jennie is stuck braving the cold alone. 

 

The rain has stopped hours ago and the streets are dry. She does not have to run.

 

She walks and, for the first time in a while, wonders about _her_. Well, that’s not exactly true. She’s always wondering about her. _She_ is always at the forefront of her brain, burned beneath her eyelids. The memories always bubble back up to the surface, bypassing the mental barriers Jennie has tried in vain to build. 

 

This is the first time in a long while that Jennie lets herself think about her. 

 

Jennie hasn’t seen her yet. Doesn’t know how she looks like in this life. It’s strange, because usually she appears much earlier, but Jennie does not for a second think that she won’t appear in this lifetime. She will. She’s been in every single one of Jennie’s lives. And history, as Jennie’s been forced to realize, repeats itself over and over again in an unbreakable cycle. 

 

She doesn’t know if the other one will appear as a Korean person or simply a tourist come to admire Gyeongbokgung, but she knows with absolute certainty that she will appear. It is only a matter of time. 

 

Jennie’s tired of it, if she’s honest. She’s given up on avoiding fate, because playing with fate only gets you burned and Jennie has suffered for much too long to try again, but now there’s a weariness that’s settled in her bones. It’s been there the past two or three lives, really, and she’d spent most of them simply going through the motions.

 

This time, shockingly, is a bit different. 

 

She likes her life here. It is frenetic and fun and less hurtful than many other lives. She has Jisoo and she’s never had someone like Jisoo before and she feels somewhat free, for once. She hasn’t lived her life based on _her_. She's lived for herself and only herself, and she's found out that it's a way of living she really, really enjoys

 

Jennie’s been tired of it for a long time. For the first time, however, she wonders if she’s more than tired. She wonders if she’s sick of it. 

 

She can’t escape, of course. She’s never been able to accomplish that and she never will be. She knows not to go against things that are bigger than her. 

 

Thinking about defiance, on the other hand, cannot hurt her. Surely it can’t. 

 

She continues to walk, and she tries not for the first time—and certainly not for the last time—to shush her mind and leave her memories behind in the cold, dark night.


End file.
